


Hammers and Strings

by Hiding_in_the_cookie_jar



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Depression, Mental Hospital, Schizoaffective Disorder, Schizophrenia, Spock is human too, modern day AU, trigger warning: mentions of suicide and suicide attempt, trigger warning: suicide attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-21
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2017-11-26 07:25:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/648063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hiding_in_the_cookie_jar/pseuds/Hiding_in_the_cookie_jar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU Jim is admitted to a mental hospital. He's pretty low on motivation until he meets Spock, the secluded artist that lives right across the hall from him. Spock's always insisting that he is absolutely fine (but Jim sees through his lies). Jim is always causing trouble. Dr. McCoy is about to sedate both of them and move them to another floor so another doctor can deal with them. A story of friendship forged through their dependence of each other during the challenges of their treatment. Trigger warnings: future suicide attempt, descriptions of mental illness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Just a silly idea that came to me. I thought it would be fun to write. I've been meaning to try my hand at an AU. Constructive critism is welcome and reviews are appreciated!
> 
> **TRIGGER WARNINGS: there will be future mentioning of suicide and suicide attempt. There's also a lot of discussion about mental illness such as schizophrenia, suicide, and bipolar disorder. ******
> 
> This is my first story on this site. If anything is amiss, I apologize. I'll get used to it but you can find the story on ff.net, too.  
> Thank you and I am planning on updating once a week.
> 
> And it was pointed out to me that state mental hospitals do not exist anymore. I did a bit of research and made this story take place in a private institute. If this is still a problem, please let me know.

San Francisco, California

St. Agatha's Private Psychiatric Instution

A bed occupied the area below the window in the corner of the room. Next to it was a small nightstand, its sole purpose for holding a lamp and clock. There was a wood desk, looking lonely with nothing but an out-of-place lamp as a companion, sitting in the opposite side of the room. A dresser was in the corner across from the bed. It was small, obviously not meant for not holding many clothes. The last touch was a couple of chairs that belonged more in the waiting room of a dentist office. The room held no sense of comfort or familiarity. No indication that it belonged to a person. It was as though it was just an empty crevice in the cave that was the hospital, barely being noticed by anyone who walked by. And in the crevice, stood a man, feeling smaller than ever before.

The man was no one in particular. He would blend in the background now that he had changed into standard resident scrubs and had been numbered by a plastic band around his wrist. The man was cataloged Kirk, T. James. 34, Male. It was now destined that his name would be forgotten by the people at the front desk and he would be referred to as his number: 24601.*

The man, normally called Jim, looked around his new place. The walls were white, the sheets were white, the curtains were white (and terrible at keeping light out for they were so thin), and the floors were plain hardwood. He had just recently been admitted and hadn't even had much time to unpack (even though he only had one bag since they allowed only so much at the hospital). He glanced at his bag that rested on his bed, thinking about what he should do next when he heard a knock and the door open.

"Mr. Kirk," a southern accent came from the threshold.

Jim turned around to see a man in a white (surprise!) lab coat over a blue dress shirt and slacks. He seemed comforting at the moment but overall, the man looked like he could put the fear of God in anyone if he wanted to.

"I'm Dr. McCoy. I'll be your physician while you're here." The man slowly walked into the room and now stood at the foot of Jim's bed. "I'm only here to make sure you're taking your meds correctly and you're physically healthy. I'm not gonna make you talk about your feelings or paint a picture - I'm a doctor, not a psychiatrist. You'll meet him later."

Jim only nodded and - strangely - Dr. McCoy seemed fine with that. Lately, he received a lot of grief for not talking. Mostly because there once was a time when no one could get Jim to shut up but now talking just seemed like too much of a waste of energy. Energy that was too precious for keeping him on his feet.

"Do you wanna see the place?"

Jim nodded once more and followed the country doctor out into the hallways. They walked past a few rooms and a nurses station with commentary from McCoy before they met two large wooden doors.

"This is the sittin' room for this floor," McCoy opened the doors to reveal many people in matching white scrubs. Jim picked at the hem of his own. The room had several small tables towards the back, with a coffee table and couch near the middle. A few overstuffed chairs sat by the corner. The nurses station expanded into the room, it's entrance being next to the main doors. "Most of our patients on this level stay here for most of the day. Your group meetings will be here, too, twice a week."

"When are group meetings?" Jim asked quietly, so not to be heard by anyone but the doctor.

"Your counselors will talk to you about it. Do you want to see dining hall?"

"Not yet," Jim walked into the room. McCoy followed behind him. "What do I do here?"

"Anything. We have books, cards, a tv."

Everything seemed too boring for Jim. There was a lot of people talking, some were reading, some were doing other things that Jim didn't bother figuring out, and there was a group of about 15 people gathered around the small tv (which was nailed to floor for safety reasons). He guessed there were only a little over 20 people in the entire room that day. And there was only one man who caught his attention.

"Who's that?" Jim pointed subtly to the secluded man by the window. He sat at a table, bending over a sketch pad, devoting all of his attention to the precise details of his work. There were a few other pencils at his side, along with what Jim assumed - by the way the man used it - to be an eraser but really looked like a hunk of gross, gray, dried out clay. He seemed to have a level of calmness on his features that Jim had never seen before. The man was in a whole other world completely - and not one that all people in psych wards had. It was like he was blissfully away from reality, captured by his art, but not incapable of returning.

"That's Spock."

"Spock? What kind of name is that?" Jim would have normally laughed at the name but for now, the tone of his words would have to suffice. "It's like the sound a suction cup makes."

"His father's Japanese*."

"Oh..." Jim looked down. "Well, now I feel like a dick."

"Don't. I give him crap all the time."

Jim looked back to McCoy, confusion etched into his expression. "Why?"

"I give everybody crap. Even you, starting soon."

"Why?" he asked again.

"'Cause everyone gets on my nerves. Some do it on purpose, like Spock over there or most of the nurses."

Jim should have felt anxious about McCoy after that but he noticed the humor shining in the man's eyes. It was a relief. Finally, someone who knew all of Jim's shitty problems actually joking with him and not treating him like the fragile, cracked, porclein doll that had belonged to great-grandma when she was a child, about to completely fall apart at the slightest disturbance. For the first time in months, Jim actually felt like the huge weight that had been crushing his chest had decreased slightly, making it a bit easier to breathe.

Jim nodded slowly. "Ok. Can I see the dining hall now?"

Jim followed McCoy out of the room, looking over his shoulder one more time at Spock. He missed the returning glance as the doors swung shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *24601 - Les Mis, anyone?
> 
> *"His father's Japanese" - So... this wasn't really 100% my own idea. Credit where credit is due: It's borrowed from A Temporary Madness by Mattmetzger on livejournal or fanfiction where Spock is a human in the 21st century. When I started writing this, I felt the need to explain Spock's name to try to be a bit more realistic. So, I thought back to the story and in it, Sarek was Japanese and Amanda was American and BAM! biracial baby! Mattmetzger also wrote that English was Spock's third language and that was why he still talked in the same way - no contractions, no idioms, really proper, etc. (however, I will not be using that in my story, I just thought I would share the perfection that is Mattmetzger). It was a really good fic and if you ship Spones... oh god. It's perfect. Words cannot describe how much I adore it. I highly recommend it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things that shoud have been mentioned in chapter one:
> 
> I am only a high school student with no knowledge on mental health besides what I read on Webmd and my mother's abnormal psychology textbook. I consider these to be reliable sources, though. But if I do get something wrong, I'm sorry. Feel free to correct me (but try to be nice. I cry easily).
> 
> This story title is based off of the song Hammers and Strings (Lullaby) by Jack's Mannequin. I needed a title and the song fitted nicely with Spock and Jim's relationship later on.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: Futrue discussion and attempt at suicide. Descriptions of mental disorders such as depression, bipolar disorder, and schizophrenia.

It had been a week.

Jim was finally starting to adjust to the new enviroment and new meds. He spent most of his time in the sitting room, either reading or pretending o read but really watched Spock from across the room. Ever since Jim's first day he had learned two things about the man. 1) They lived right across the hallway from each other. However, that wasn't an invitation for Jim to befriend him or attempt to start a conversation. He had learned that the second day. 2) Spock was one of the most private men he had ever met. They had group meetings together and Jim had sat next to Spock (and got a fairly dirty look). He didn't say a word for the whole hour unless prompted by the counselor and even then, it was only a few words. But in his defense, it wasn't like the meetings were incredibly exciting. Jim, being his nervous self, didn't even talk more than he needed to get a good note in the counselor's book.

Over the course of the week, Jim had met all of the patients on the floor, the nurses that ran the floor, and his psychiatrist, Christopher Pike - which was who he was with right now.

Pike's office was large and on the third floor - right above Jim's. He was a smartly dressed man that was gentle and compassionate towards his patients. Jim sat across from him at his desk, tugging at his shirt.

"It says here, Mr. Kirk, that you were admitted for trauma-induced Schizoaffective Disorder*," Pike said. looking at his file. "You suffered hallucinations after you witnessed a mass shooting just a couple of hours away from here 2 years ago." Jim blinked. "Want to talk about that?"

"Not particularly."

Pike gave him a sort of sympathetic smile. "We'll get there eventually. When did your hallucinations stop?"

"About two weeks ago."

Pike nodded and scribbled something down in his notepad. Jim leaned in and tried reading what it said, only to be startled into sitting back by a sharp look and subtle clearing of the throat.

"Can you tell me what your halluciantions were like?" Pike continued, slightly shifting his pad towards him.

Jim clutched his hands together and looked downwards. "I... I thought I had a brother."

"Did he have a name?" Jim nodded. "What was it?"

"Sam."

Pike scribbled some more. "Can you remember when you first started seeing him? Or did anyone tell you when you started acting differently?"

"My girlfriend - well, she's not anymore." Jim shrugged. "She told me that I was strange a few weeks after the shooting. She said that I wasn't acting like myself."

"How were you acting?"

"Beats me. All I was told was that I picked up different mannerisms from time to time. And once I was caught talking to myself like there was someone else in the room."

"Did you have hallucinations a lot?"

"Not that I know of. I was normal most of the time," Jim smiled weakly for a moment. "But... I was pretty far gone sometimes."

"Yeah?"

"I remember I would talk to him for hours. When I was alone, he would show up and would stay for days."

"So, he was there for comfort?"

"I guess..."

"It's nomal for patients to experience an increase in hallucinations when they feel especially stressed." Jim just shrugged. "How do you feel now that the hallucinations stopped?"

"Honestly... Alone."

"Alone?"

"How am I supposed to feel? I lost a brother."

"You lost a delusion."

Jim licked his lips. "Suppose so," he mumbled.

The rest of the session was awkward. They didn't talk about his hallucinations and even then, Jim gave nothing but vague answers. It was like pulling teeth for Pike to get an adequate response. Finally, after a frustrating hour, Pike announced that they would see each other the same time next week.

Instead of going back his floor, Jim, being unsupervised, wandered around. He climbed stairs he had barely treaded on before, looked into the sitting rooms for other floors, and passed staff who he had never met and who kindly asked him to go back to where he belonged. Jim left the floor after that but he lingered in the narrow stairwell that led from the first floor to the basement. The basement looked the exact same as the upper floors, just with a lot less people. It was used for storage mostly and it was the home for all of the fuse boxes. No one ever really went down there besides the occasional maintenance man. It was also poorly lit, Jim noted, and them decided it would look better in a cliché horror movie with Jessica Alba.

Jim sat for God knows how long. He pondered how they could fit more lights in the hallways and then let his mind drift from there. In his reverie, Jim lost track of time and ignored everything around him. The background noises of the furnace or the footsteps above him faded away. Reality was blocked by his thoughts.

There was a bang that echoed through the hall. Jim snapped out of his daydreams and peered around the corner to see Spock quietly walking down the corridors. He stopped dead in his tracks when he noticed Jim. For a long moment, they stared at each other.

Times seemed to slow down as an awkward atmosphere settled over them. If they had known what that single second in the endless numbers of time would ignite, maybe they wouldn't have stared dumbfounded. Maybe one of them woud have allowed themselves a smile to start off a thousand. They would have exchanged a greeting at the very least and possibly a "how do you do?" But because neither of them knew, they only shifted around awkwardly, waiting for the other to talk.

"Um..." Jim said. "Do you need through?" He started to scoot over to make room.

"No. I was looking for a quiet place and I usually go here."

Jim eyed the sketchbook tucked protectivley under Spock's arm. "I'll be quiet."

Spock seemed reluctant but he climbed the stairs, past Jim. He watched as Spock skillfully perched himself on the thick newel post on the landing where the two staircases met. It was wide enough for him to fit comfortably and start drawing.

For hours they sat like that. Spock's pencil glided over his paper and Jim watched. He had seen Spock draw so many times before but had never observed his habits. His tongue poked out ever so slightly and his eyes glazed over with concentration. Within seconds, Spock was dead to the world. Jim basked in the dedication and interest radiating off of the man.

After watching for a while, Jim crawled up a few steps to comfortably lay on the landing.

It took a while to work up the courage but finally Jim asked: "What are you drawing?"

Spock slowly looked up and mumbled: "You said you would be quiet."

"I will be after you answer my question." Jim's words seemed to mash together even though he tried to keep calm. He paused to collect himself. "What are you drawing?"

"Nothing that concerns you. If you insist on continuing this conversation, you can do so yourself."

Jim scoffed, brushing off the unintentional schizophrenic joke. "You're sassy," he said with a newfound ease. Spock sighed. "I can see why you and Dr. McCoy go at it all the time." Spock raised an eyebrow. "I watch you two sometimes for cheap entertainment."

"Do you usually invade the privacy of people you barely know?"

"It's not like I press my ear up to closed doors or anything. It's just whenever he's yelling at you in the middle of the room."

"I see... He does that frequently."

"Does he do it on purpose?"

Spock nodded. "He also finds it entertaining."

"What about you?" Spock gave Jim a questionable look. "Come on, I can tell you like it. Everyone likes friendly banter."

Spock twirled his pencil in his fingers. "I suppose it can be nice."

There was another loud bang echoing from the far end of the hall. Jim sat up and Spock turned around in time to see McCoy angrily storming up to them.

"What the hell have you two been doin'?" he crossed his arms. "You know you aren't s'possed to leave the floor."

"You haven't cared before," Spock said coolly.

"'Cause I know every nook and cranny you crawl into but Kirk here was meant to be back at 2. Pike's pissed, by the way."

"There was no harm done," Spock slid off of the post, closing his book. Jim stood up uncertainly.

"What'd you two even do down here?"

"Talked."

"Really? You two never talk for anyone. I've barely heard a word out of you since you've been here, Kirk."

Jim looked away and followed Spock down the steps to McCoy.

"You two nearly missed your doses," McCoy growled as he led them out of the empty hall.

Spock and Jim shared a look. He was unsure but Jim thought that he had at least became Spock's aquantice that day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Schizoaffective Disorder - To put it simply, this is a combination of schizophrenia and a mood disorder. People who suffer from this illness show symptoms of either depression or bipolar disorder accompanied by those of schizophrenia (I've decided to give Jim the schizophrenia/bipolar disorder version). These symptoms include (for bipolar disorder): Mood swings, inflated self-esteem, distractibility, destructive behavior. (For schizophrenia): Hallucinations, poor motivation, odd or unusual behavior. These are not all the symptoms, though, they're only ones Jim will have in this story. It can be triggered by a stressful event - or, as in Jim's case, a trauma - as long as they have "inherited a tendency to develop the disorder."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCoy is tired of tired of seeing two of his patients constantly being alone. So, of course, he does something about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a boring chapter. Sorr, but it's just to get things going. Things won't be this bland in future chapters.
> 
> It was pointed out to me that state mental hospitals do not exist anymore. I did a bit of research and made this story take place in a private institute. I figured that they would be able to afford it because Spock's father will still be in politics and Jim's father was a captain in the Navy. In other words, their parents pay for all of it. If this is still a problem, please let me know and thank you for letting me know. :) 

McCoy wondered for a moment if watching two men from across the room was weird. Then, he figured he didn't care by this point. A few days ago he had found Spock and Jim, apparently having a genuine conversation despite Spock never showing any interest in Jim and Kirk adopting a deer-in-headlights look whenever someone said "Hello". He just wanted to see them actually interact with someone. Preferably now and with each other. They were sitting on opposite sides of the room, Jim playing solitaire at an empty table and Spock reading a book in an overstuffed chair.

Finally, McCoy marched over to Spock, gaining the man's attention. He sat on the coffee table in front of Spock.

"Doctor," Spock greeted.

"Have you talked to Kirk any more?"

"... Pardon?"

"You two seemed to get along pretty well."

"Yes. Why does that matter?"

"Spock," McCoy sighed. "You need a friend. I'm tired of seein' you alone all the time."

"It does not bother me."

"I don't care. Get your ass over there and at least try to make him like you."

"Doctor, we had one conversation, that hardly allows me to approach a man with social anxiety."

"He doesn't have social anxiety, he's just shy and awkward."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "That does not help your cause."

"Come on," McCoy roughly grabbed Spock's arm and pulled him up to his feet. He dragged him over to Jim, ignoring a shout of "Dr. McCoy, stop manhandling your patients!" from the head nurse.

Jim looked up at them with his doe eyes. He didn't say anything and looked uncomfortable when McCoy pushed Spock down in the chair across from him.

"Doctor -"

"Shut up."

Jim bit the inside of his cheek, praying that he would be left alone soon.

"I apologize," Spock said, turning to Jim. "Dr. McCoy is trying to force a friendship on us."

"Oh," Jim said. That didn't sound too bad to him.

"Just do what you did before," McCoy said. "It's not hard, you know."

Spock crossed his arms. "This is what you were referring to when you said you enjoyed Dr. McCoy's and I's 'friendly banter'?"

McCoy scoffed and Jim's cheeks took on a bright shade of red. "Yeah," he said quietly.

"You two were talkin' 'bout me? I'm flattered," McCoy's voice was filled with satire. "Have fun. I'll be back later."

Jim watched McCoy walk away and looked down at the table. He shifted one of the cards around a bit before flipping the top card over in the stack. He slowly put it on top of a red jack and moved to flip over the next card.

"Actually," Spock said. "You have a black 10 that can be placed here." Spock pointed to a column that ended with a king, queen, and jack in the correct pattern. "Then that will allow you to complete another set."

Jim moved the cards as Spock said and sure enough, within a few minutes, he had finished the game.

"Thank you," Jim quietly said.

He collected all the cards and hit them against the table to even them out. Looking up at the other man and gesturing to the cards, he asked shyly: "Do you wanna play something?"

Spock thought for a moment. "Have you ever played chess?"  
_________________________________________________________________________

McCoy came back to the sitting room two hours later. The room was always filled with more people after lunch but amongst all the patients, he couldn't find either Spock or Jim. He knocked on the door to the nurses' station.

"Chapel, have you seen Kirk or Spock?"

"They left a while ago," the blond head nurse answered. "They said they were going to Spock's room."

"To do what?" he raised an eyebrow.

"I don't know, doctor, but Spock is due for prozac in about 10 minutes."

Chapel went back to her work while McCoy walked to the door. He hoped that this meant that they were getting along. But he also hoped that they had not found a way to leave the building or grounds. McCoy didn't know too much about Jim besides what it said on his medical charts but he had gotten the impression that he was going to be a trouble-maker. If anyone would be acquainted with Spock, they would need to be equally annoying and smart - which were a dangerous combination. McCoy prayed that the two of them would become friends.

He knocked lightly when he came to Spock's room. Without waiting for a response, he walked in.

"Good afternoon," Spock greeted.

Jim and Spock sat on an end of the bed, staring intently at a chess board - the one McCoy got Spock last year but had been rarely used. Spock threateningly slid a rook towards one of Jim's remaining pawns.

"Doctor, might I enquire as to why you wish to track our every move?"

"I just wanted to make sure you two were getting along," McCoy shrugged.

"The term is 'stalker'. Check."

"Quit your sass-mouthing."

"He's right," Jim spoke up and - to McCoy's surprise - it didn't come out as a mumble or rushed. "You're very stalker-ish. I don't feel safe, to be honest."

"I'm gonna pretend that you didn't say that and do you a favor by not slipping a sedative into your dinner. Anyways, Spock you need to take your medication."

Spock rose from the bed, knowing that medication was only to be distributed and taken in the nurses' station.

"Can I trust you to not manipulate the pieces?" he asked.

Jim scoffed. "Why would I do that? It's like you don't trust me."

McCoy led Spock to the hall and waited until they were a few feet away from the door before he started talking.

"He was awfully chipper."

"Yes. His mood improved around the second chess game."

McCoy hummed thoughtfully.

"Am I right in assuming he is bipolar? He may have been having a low episode this past week."

"You know the rules, Spock. I could get fired for telling you anything without Kirk's consent."

"I understand," Spock nodded.

They entered the nurses' station and Spock immediately had a small cup containing a pill thrust at him. He gave it a dirty look.

"Just take it," McCoy snapped.

"I see no need for it."

Spock tipped the cup into his mouth and swallowed the pill dry.

"No need for it, my ass," McCoy muttered.

"If we're done," Spock gestured towards the door.

"Yeah."

"Will you be interrupting us at any other time during the evening?"

"If I feel like it."

Spcok sighed and quickly left the room filled with busy nurses and doctors; pills and needles; everything that he hated. Everything that he thought he didn't need anymore. But McCoy knew what would happen to Spock if he didn't have any of this - if he didn't have a politician father who payed for the private rooming and a prestigious medical staff who truly cared for all of their patients (even if Spock thought otherwise on the last point). It was frustrating to have such a stubborn patient and that was why McCoy hoped he and Jim would become friends. So Spock would realize that when someone told him that he still needed help, it wasn't a therapist trying to get more money, or a doctor being prescription-happy, or a nurse blindly following the orders of the boss. He would realize that there are people out there who truly care - that he wasn't alone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock and Jim are more trouble than McCoy can handle (though he secretly finds it amusing).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Chapter 4! Whoop! It should have been up weeks ago, I'm sorry. All I have to offer is excuses about visiting family out of state and a very poorly written chapter. I hope to get this story exciting soon.

Spock held his face up to the water, letting it push back his bangs and slide down the sides of his body. It caressed him like silk and flowed down his legs and back. He reached down and turned off the shower knobs. Quickly drying off and combing his hair to the immaculate style he always wore it, Spock got dressed in the usual scrubs and robe and stepped out of the bathroom.

He still had a few minutes before he would need to leave for a group meeting. That time could be spent making his bed.

Spock was a man of habit and organization. It truly wasn't his fault, he was simply raised by his father that way. His mother, however, thought Spock was becoming a bit OCD after a while and after Spock's diagnosis, his compulsions only became worse. He couldn't see it, though. Spock thought he was living by what his father had taught him, not what his illness had made him.

~*~

Jim groaned as he rolled out of bed. He hated the early morning meetings that required him to wake up before his natural rising time. Reluctantly, he took a quick shower and dressed. It took all of twenty minutes and he was out the door like the chipper man he was.

Meanwhile, in the sitting room, staff were pulling chairs into a small circle; Nurses switched shifts and counselors were walking in with cups of coffee; the curtains were opening and light streamed in across the tile floor. Pike watched it all unravel around him and smiled as the staff worked in perfect sync.

The patients slowly filed in and sat in the circle. And, of course, Spock and Jim walked in together, Jim talking animatedly while Spock listened with what seemed to be the deepest interest. Pike passed them on his way out of the room, his smile growing as he heard the cheerful tone coming from Jim.

In his office, Pike opened two manila folders on his desk. Inside was information on two men on their admittance and short weekly reports. He picked up a pen and scribbled down a quick note on each report in messy scrawl.

_Improving_

~*~

"Jim, that is not how you play," Spock said.

"But I just want to win one game!"

Spock picked up the chess pieces Jim had swiped off the board. He placed them on the table, next the board that contained only a few surviving pieces from Jim's fit.

"Would you like to start over?"

Jim pursed his lips and nodded. They set the pieces up like soldiers going into battle, all facing the opposing army with courage and strength. But Jim knew his white men would not hold for long. Out of the dozens of games they had played over the course of a week and a half, Jim had won a grand total of 5. And as if that wasn't bad enough, he had to deal with Spock's smug face every time he announced "checkmate."

"We need to start doing other things," Jim announced, moving a rook forward.

"Such as learning how to play a proper game of chess?" Spock captured the same rook.

"You're really sassy today," Jim crossed his arms. "No, I mean like, let's actually leave the building today."

"Alright. I was planning on winning in a few minutes, anyways."

Jim glared playfully before smirking. "How'd you learn to play so well?"

"My father taught me when I was young and always insisted that I practiced. It was similar to his views of me playing piano."

Jim scrunched up his nose. "Oh, was he the type of father to force everything on you? And then you had to be the best at all of it?"

"Are you saying he wished me to become a prodigy?"

"Kinda."

Spock picked up a bishop, twirling it slowly in his fingers. "You would be correct." 

There was a tense silence that followed. Spock continued twiddling the piece, looking down at the table contemplatively. Feeling uncomfortable and slightly guilty for bringing up a sore topic, Jim hopped to his feet to change the subject.

"Come on, let's go outside," he said with a mischievous twinkle settling in his eyes.

Spock looked up. "We have to wait another hour for the first rec time."

"Says who?"

"Security, Pike, the medical staff, the counselors -"

"But they don't have to know!" Spock raised an eyebrow. "What? The prodigal son never sneaked out of the house for a date in high school?" Jim teased.

"The prodigal son was always caught."

"You don't know how to do it right, then." Jim lowered his voice. "If we don't act suspicious and stay quiet, no one is going to ask where we're going."

"Jim," Spock shook his head. "How do you plan we get past the alarms and security at the doors?"

"Easy. We just use the back doors. The nurses always smoke on break and they go out the fire exit doors since Pike has a rule against smoking on property. There aren't any security, cameras, or alarms."

"And how do you know all of this?"

"David told me everything."

"He's not the most... stable of men, Jim."

"Spock, this is a mental hospital, none of us are exactly stable. He might be shady but he knows a lot."

Spock smirked. They quickly put the chess pieces back in the board that doubled as a case. They talked casually as they started leaving the room, but were stopped by a nurse.

"Where are you two going?" He asked.

"We were only headed back to my room," Jim said, picking up the innocent act with his shy eyes and small voice. "To play chess," he looked down the board in Spock's hands.

The nurse sighed. "You need permission to leave."

"Sorry," Jim said. "Can we go?"

"Yes," the nurse smiled kindly at them and watched them walk out of the room.

As soon as they were a few feet down the hall, Jim started snickering. "You could have spoken up back there."

"I am not a good liar," Spock admitted.

"So, you can't lie, you were never able to sneak out of the house when you were a teenager, and you were forced to be a prodigy. How much did your parents screw you up?"

Spock did not answer. He remained quiet as they passed their rooms and started leaving the floor. They were completely casual when they walked down the empty halls and stairwells. The only sounds were that of their footsteps and a few staff members passing in an adjacent hall, chatting. They stuck to Jim's advice and remained inconspicuous and did not get stopped once (whether it was from that or because they passed no one with authority over them, Spock will argue). Finally, they made it to the back of the building where there were no rooms and only an empty hallway that would lead to offices for the first floor staff.

"And we're free," Jim said, opening the door.

He held his head up to the sky, basking in the sunlight. Spock stepped out beside him, looking around. It was only the parking lot and he didn't see why Jim was this excited. Although, he did admit that the warmth of the sun did feel nice and the fresh air was something to be enjoyed.

"What do we do now?" Spock asked.

"Shh... We're embracing it."

"Why do you not simply go out during rec times instead of depriving -"

"Embrace, Spock!"

What classified as strange in a mental hospital? Spock pondered the thought for a second or two.

The wind blew lightly, tousling the little curl that rested on Jim's forehead. Spock watched as a smile spread on his lips and the hazel eyes glided closed. The wind wrapped around them with its feather-light touch, blowing their robes out behind them. When it died down, Jim's eyes opened and he looked at Spock.

"Ready?"

"For what?"

"To go back inside. Someone will find us if we stay out here much longer."

"But why could we not have waited one more hour?"

Jim shrugged. "The need to rebel?" he offered.

Spock stared and him, meeting an impassive expression. "I do not understand your thought process."

"You wouldn't be the first."

Spock opened his mouth the retort but it was closed by a sharp smack to the back of his head. He and Jim whirled around, both clutching their heads where they had been struck. McCoy stood in the doorway with a security guard, arms crossed, glaring at them.

"What the hell are you doin' out here?" he demanded.

"We were embracing the outside," Spock said.

Jim fought to hold back a laugh but McCoy probably wouldn't have found anything about it humorous even if he had been there for the earlier conversation.

"Git in here!" The laughter faded and the two men sauntered inside. "Why do I keep findin' you two in the most damn inappropriate places?"

"We've barely been anywhere inappropriate."

"More than anyone else in this damn place. What were tryin' to pull?"

"Nothing," Spock said, readjusting his hold on the chess board he still had. "We will return to the sitting room now."

"No you aren't. Your goin' straight back to your rooms and staying there for the rest of the day."

"But it's only 10 in the morning!" Jim exclaimed.

McCoy gave him a disbelieving look. "You broke maybe 20 rules by sneakin' out here. 20 rules that could get everyone who works here in trouble. Pike ordered this, too. If you want to argue about it, go to the man who could be facing legal charges."

Jim hung his head. They were led back to their rooms in silence. Anger radiated off of McCoy and translated to guilt into Jim and Spock (but mostly Jim). The two of them shared a look before being split up outside their rooms. The security guard followed Spock into his room until he got settled and McCoy did the same for Jim.

"I'm gonna be talking to Spock, too," McCoy said, the anger in his voice still present but dwindling. He closed the door as Jim sat on his bed, looking at the floor. "Be honest, whose idea was it?"

"Mine," Jim mumbled.

McCoy nodded. "And I'm guessin' Spock didn't need much convincin'?"

"Not really."

"Yeah, we've had trouble with him in the past. It was a mistake introducin' you two." Jim stayed quiet. "But then I guess this is better than how both of you were." Jim looked up. "If you two are any more trouble, though, I swear Pike'll move one of you to another floor. You've only known each other for about two weeks and your friendship already has a bad reputation. That must be a record."

Jim scoffed. "Thanks."

"Just try to behave from now on," McCoy said, turning towards the door. "And expect to have Pike come down here soon."

"Dr. McCoy!" Jim stopped him. "Just out of curiosity, how did you even know we were missing?"

McCoy smirked. "You were due for medication 10 minutes ago."

Jim felt a blush creep up on his cheeks. "Oh."

"Yep. It wasn't too hard to find you after that. And a nurse will be down in a few minutes."

The door closed quietly and Jim fell back on his bed. His relieved laughter filled the room sweetly.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The origin of the nickname.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry. It's a bad chapter. I really needed to post something but I'm afraid I rushed through this. I've had no time recently. Try to enjoy!

The patients and Dr. McCoy had a system. Since they were not allowed off the grounds of the hospital without authorization from Pike, they could only use anything currently in the building for entertainment (and even if they could leave, what money would they use? All their savings were being put towards the highly priced treatment.) Needless to say, patients got bored quickly and it could interfere with their progress. So, Dr. McCoy took it into his own hands. He may have acted like he didn't care about any of them but it was obviously a lie when a patient would be rereading a book for the third time and he would press a new hardback into their hands. And not only that, but McCoy had come to know everyone's interests. Truthfully, McCoy was a caring man who would always be there for a patient when they needed him.

"I'm bored, though!" Jim whined.

Some times it was hard, though.

McCoy took a calming breath. "What the hell do you want me to do about it?"

"I don't know," Jim shrugged.

McCoy started to leave the sitting room with Jim, unfortunantly, trailing behind. Spock was currently in therapy and Jim, not really having any other friends, was going up the walls and taking everyone with him.

"Spock'll be back down soon," McCoy said, holding open the door for Jim. "Just do somethin' until then."

"Do what? I'm booored!"

"Jim, I swear to God..."

"Can't I just stay with you?"

"No. I have paperwork to do."

"And you can't put it off for a little while longer to comfort a lonely patient?"

"If I put it off any longer, I'll be fired."

Jim sighed and crossed his arms. He looked like a 5 year-old who had just been denied sweets before dinner. "What do you suggest I do then?"

"I don't care. Just make sure whatever it is, it's not around me or causes any collateral damage."

There was a slight slump in Jim's shoulders as he turned around. McCoy, watching the retreating figure, briefly wondered if he was too hard on him. The man _did_ have a fragile mental state. He shrugged it off and figured he would make it up to him soon.

~~

The next day, Jim was lounging in the sitting room. He sat sideways on an overstuffed chair, his legs hanging off one arm, his back propped up against the other. There were several things to do in the place and yet he chose to mope. Spock was no where to be seen and was probably electing to stay in his room for a few hours (a habit he practiced the day of and partially the day after a therapy session).

"Jim," McCoy walked up to him, holding a paperback book.

Jim looked up. "What?" He sounded a bit pissed.

"You still bored?"

"Yeah..."

Jim had a look that seemed to say, "Now you care." And his tone was similar to a moody teenager. McCoy hoped that this wasn't another mood swing but it seemed to be heading there.

"Here," McCoy handed him the book. Jim flipped through a few crisp pages, stopping in the middle and reading a passage. "You can read it while Spock's cooped up in his room."

"What's it about?"

"Civil War." Jim turned to the first page of the prologue. Of course McCoy knew about Jim's interests in history and more specifically, his interest in past wars. It was probably something he had inherited from his father who - to McCoy's knowledge - had been a Captain in the Navy. "I read it a few years ago."

"Is it any good?"

"Well, I finished it in a day."

"It's over 400 pages!" Jim scoffed

"Does that answer your question or not?"

Jim smirked. "Thanks."

~~

McCoy was in the nurses' station, filling out new prescriptions and altering dosages. It was tedious. When he started medical school, McCoy thought it meant he would be working in an emergency room, always on call and saving lives. But then he took that damn psychology class and then the second class and before he knew it, he was knee deep in abnormal psych text books with a new interest in the cerebrum. For a semester he thought he could sucessfully make his interests and degrees overlap. His professors and counselors told him options and his enthusiasm quickly deflated. Now he was in a mental hospital, feeling like he should be more of a patient than a staff member.

It was, of course, rewarding on some days. He would watch patients leave, completely healthy and ready to pick their lives back up. This was possibly the best part of his job (once he was even hugged by a very thankful young lady). And although it could get overwhelming, when he looked around to the sitting room, watching everyone relax in the evening, it would take some of his crazy away.

His eyes fell on his least favorite patients. One of them was talking animatedly, his eyes bright, completely engrossed in his own story. The other was listening with full attention, making comments every now and again. McCoy eagerly finished his last script and joined them. Jim smiled up at him, Spock merely glanced.

"So, I take it you're likin' the book?" The book was laying on the table in front of them, a slip of paper marking his place roughly midway after a day.

"He will not stop talking about it," Spock said.

"It's a really good book," McCoy countered. He picked it up and flipped open to the page Jim was on, skimming over it. "Did you get to the part where Thomas's mother dies yet?"

Jim's face fell. "She dies?"

McCoy didn't bother hiding his snicker as he set down the paperback. "Sorry," he said with a shrug.

Jim looked down at the book as though he was contemplating the rest of his existence after hearing that spoiler. McCoy could have sworn he saw Spock smirking at the crestfallen man. After a moment of silence, though, they both recovered.

"Um, actually, I have a question," Jim said. "They keep calling the doctor a sawbones. What's that?"

"It was a term for surgeons."

"You're a sawbones, then?"

"Not exact-"

"I'm calling you sawbones from now on."

"I doubt it will keep its appeal," Spock said.

"You're right," Jim squinted in his eyes in thought. Then, a smile spreading across his lips, he simply stated: "Bones."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "I gotta get back to work."

"Bye Bones!" Jim called out to him as he started to walk away.

McCoy knew that it would take awhile for Jim to forget that one. And yet, he couldn't bring himself to resent the nickname. He looked back at them when he got was back in the nurses' station, filling our more paperwork. They were deep in another conversation. Jim laughed at something Spock said and Spock looked down at the table, probably trying to hide a bashful smile. After the laughter subsided, Jim patted his friend on the shoulder. To watch them was more beautiful than any painting of DaVinci's, more rewarding than finding the Holy Grail, and more poetic than Byron himself.

Yeah. It definitely took away some of the crazy.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pike and McCoy have a conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait for an update and I hope y'all didn't have your expectations too high. Over 1,000 words of absolutley nothing! Hooray! There is, however, a bit of character development involving sexuality. Is there going to be a hook up? And if so, who's gonna get with who? Guess you'll have to wait and see. I'm good at writing, guys. And also good at keeping people interested. /sarcasm/
> 
> If anyone wants to see something in this fic, tell me and I will probably make a chapter out of it.

Pike held up a glass of water, showing it to the patients that circled around him.

"Now, this glass..." he trailed off when he saw Jim raising his hand and waving it around. "Yes, Mr. Kirk?"

"I know the answer," Jim stated with a smile.

"There is no answer," Pike said, noting the mania that seemed to have been plaguing Jim recently. He needed to change his prescription after this group meeting.

"Oh! Because the answer is that there is no answer. The glass is neither half empty nor half full."

"Let him finish, Jim," Spock scolded.

Jim nodded. "I'm sorry."

Pike smirked ever so slightly. "What I was going to ask is: How heavy is this glass of water?"

There was silence. Pike looked around to see the slightly confused expressions of his patients.

"8 ounces," Spock spoke up.

Pike only nodded to acknowledge him. "Anyone else?"

"I'm agreeing with Spock," Jim said. "8 ounces."

"Ok."

"10 ounces," someone else by the name Kate said from behind Pike.

Guessing went on for a few minutes. No one went out of the range of 6 to 10 ounces. When everyone grew silent again, Pike shook his head at all of them.

"You're all wrong," he said. Spock looked a bit confused and Jim tilted his head to the side slightly as though he could not even possibly fathom the thought of Spock being wrong. "The weight of the glass doesn't even matter. What matters is how long I hold it for. There's no problem if I hold it for a minute but if I hold it for an hour, my arm gets tired and sore. And it'll become numb if I hold the glass for a day. The weight itself doesn't change but it feels heavier as I hold it longer.

"It's all a metaphor for the stress you all feel. If you think about them for minute, you're fine. The longer you dwell on them, though, the more they start to hurt. If you go a whole day, they'll make you paralyzed and you're incapable of doing anything. So, you need to let everything go. Don't let your worries get the best of you. They're silly and not worth your time." Pike smiled at the slightly enlightened faces. "I think we're done for the day."

The chairs squeaked against the floor as the group pulled them back to their rightful tables. Jim still sat, though, contemplating heavily on what Pike had just told him. Spock gently touched his shoulder, rousing him from his reverie and leading him to the other side of the sitting room.

"Where'd you get that one at?" McCoy asked, leaning against the counter of the nurses' office as Pike walked past him.

"Internet*," Pike replied, shuffling through a pile of prescriptions.

"That's cheatin'."

"I know. But aren't I allowed to cheat a bit for the closers? I went to school for eight years to get a PhD, I'm allowed some leeway." Pike grinned, patting his pockets. He pulled out a pen and started scribbling a note on a script. "I'm changing Kirk's prescription, by the way."

"To what?"

"Carbatrol."

"An anticonvulsant?"

"It's my only option. He's allergic to anything else that would be effective and I don't want to start him on lithium."

"Don't you think he's improvin' now?"

"Not really. He goes back and forth from being juvenile to charismatic and friendly and he just got over a down period. It's getting hard to say what he's really like."

"Did his family say what he was like before all of this?"

Pike grinned. "His parents told me that he was a hardworking gentleman. Somewhat childish but professional when he needed to be. I talked to his ex-girlfriend, too. She said that when we think his hallucinations started, he started chasing every man and woman that crossed his path. He wasn't even out to her at the time. Anyways, before that he was very a respectful boyfriend. He would always hold open doors, pay for dinner, take time out of his day to talk to her -"

"All the mushy stuff that I hate?"

"Yeah." McCoy wrinkled his nose at that.

"In other words," McCoy said after he recovered. "He was perfect."

"No family member talks about the flaws when their loved one is in a mental hospital," Pike shook his head.

Suddenly, there was a loud crash coming from behind them. They spun around to see Jim on the floor on an overturned overstuffed chair. He rolled backwards quickly and to his feet, fixing his robe that had been caught on his head. Spock stood a safe distance away, arms folded and an eyebrow raised.

"Nothing's broke," Jim announced.

"I don't even want to know how he gets in such trouble," McCoy said as Jim fixed the chair. "Or Spock, for that matter."

"Who even introduced those two?" Pike had to chuckle a bit.

McCoy gave him a devilish grin.

"You?" Pike's voice dripped with skepticism. McCoy nodded. "I can't believe that you, of all people, would make your least favorite patients friends. What made you do it?"

"I like playing God." Pike scoffed.

"It was a good call, though. They get along perfectly. It's like a different sides of the same coin deal."

"Does this mean I get a raise?"

"How about no."

"I have a daughter, you know," McCoy started dramatically. "How am I supposed to send her to a good college, pay for her braces, put food on the table?"

"I don't know, _doctor_ ," Pike said mockingly. "How will you?" McCoy sniffed in reply. "What time is it?"

"'Bout one," McCoy said, looking at his watch.

"I have an appointment in half an hour." Pike quickly handed the stack of prescriptions back to a nurse. "I'll see you later. Keep an eye on Spock and Kirk."

McCoy pushed off from the counter and sauntered to where Jim was getting berated by a nurse. Pike laughed at the sight when McCoy took over. It took less than a minute for Spock to make a snide remark.

That must be a new record Pike thought fondly.

There was not necessarily a rule forbidding fraternization between patients and doctors. McCoy would deny any friendly feelings towards them, anyways. It was hard but Pike finally tore his gaze away from the trio, hoping he would be prepared for the appointment in time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *"Internet" - Ugh. Fine. I admit it. I stole this from something I saw online. It was the only inspiration I had for this chapter.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock and Pike's therapy session.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone dissapointed yet? I took an incredibly long time to update and now you have a chapter that I hope will give you all insight on Spock's illness and relationships. I hope the next update won't take as long. Summer vacation is in a couple of weeks and I have a long weekend off from school coming up so maybe that will be some timefrom writing. Also, I saw Into Darkness last Saturday... It was good, I was sobbing. Watch it if you haven't.

Pike was rather fond of Spock - that is, if "rather fond" meant that he wanted to grab the man by the shoulders, look him straight in the eye and say, "You are wonderful." Ever since he had opened up about his family life, Pike had started to express probably more affection to him than what was professional. When Spock talked about his father, his eyes were downcast and there was a slight change in his normally confidant voice that gave away the feelings towards the man who believed Spock to be a dissapointment. He had yet to say anyting more of his mother except that she was "prone to being overemotional" but otherwise "a kind, gentle woman." But Pike could tell that Spock had felt nothing but love for his mother.

Spock sat in the chair, posture perfect, hands resting in his lap. Pike admired that. He always looked like a soldier in the middle of therapy sessions.

"You're still responding well to your meds," Pike noted from the chair across from Spock at the end of the session. "And you're still at a healthy weight." Pike looked up from his folder, noting the almost-eager look from the impassive face. "How are you feeling?"

It was always the last question Pike asked. At the beginning of an appointment, he would ask how the patient had been since the last time they met and then they would continue wherever they left off from. He would always leave a few minutes left at the end to ask them.

Spock's eager look deflated. "As I have told you before, I am fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Is what you just said not evidence?"

"Well, yeah, but that doesn't mean anything. You're not going to be walking around with a literal gray cloud over your head."

"Shouldn't you be able to recognize the symptoms as a psychiatrist?"

"I wish it was that easy. I can't help you if you hide everything," Pike said. "All I know is that your taking your meds like your supposed, keeping down your food, and getting enough sleep. It's a big improvement and I'm proud of you - don't get me wrong. All I'm concerned about it if your hiding it like last time."

Spock sighed in irritation. "I have expressed my desires to leave and stop my medication. Does that not indicate that I am healthy?"

"For starters, your never coming off that Prozac. Sorry. Maybe one day you'll thank me." Pike pinched the bridge of his nose. "Spock, listen, when you first came here 6 months ago, you were terribly underweight and just out of the hospital. If it wasn't for that, I would have never been able to tell you were depressed. You seemed alright because you didn't let anyone see. You thought - and probably still think - that your illness makes you weak and you don't want to feel inferior. You just want to be like all the functioning adults out there. It's common in patients. We've talked about this."

"Yes, every appointment we have ends in this same pattern," Spock said. "And I believe our hour is up?"

"Yeah." Pike nodded. "So that means that all of this is off the report." Spock sighed. Pike smirked at him in the little way that made Spock infuriated and Pike overjoyed. "Oh, come on. When was the last time we actually talked?"

"What do you consider these appointments?"

"Professional. This is us catching up," Pikesaid. "How's your mother?"

"She worries. I assure her that nothing is wrong and change the subject as quickly as I can."

"You can't blame her for worrying. You're her only child."

"I only wish she - and other people," a playful glare "- would understand that I'm fine."

"Alright, I get it," Pike shrugged. "You can tell her that the next visiting day is in less than two weeks and that she should come."

"So she can fuss over me?"

"Why not?"

"I have you and Jim for that."

"Oh! Maybe she'd like to meet Jim." Spock raised an eyebrow. "Just a thought."

"They would most definitely get along." Spock smirked. "Jim reminds me of her sometimes."

"I never met your mother, I wouldn't know."

"Have I not told you about her enough?"

"You're biased-"

"How am I biased?"

"You think she's over emotional."

"And I think the same for Jim."

Spock almost smiled. It was hard to tell but Pike was relieved to see the slight twitch at the corners of his mouth.

"But, hey, they both care about you a lot. More than other people like your father."

Pike immediately regretted what he said. He was a therapist. Why was he saying things that he knew would upset his patient?

The faint smile completely faded. "Yes," Spock agreed quietly.

The silence that followed stretched on for minutes. Spock looked down at the carpet to avoid Pike's compassionate gaze.

"I put my foot in my mouth. I'm sorry. You really shouldn't listen to what you say."

"What kind of therapist are you? Telling your patients not to listen to you." Spock mumbled in a poor attempt at humor.

 _What kind of therapist am I upsetting fragile patients?_ Pike thought. _It's a surprise I haven't triggered anyone yet._

Pike smiled weakly at him. It was all he could offer. He didn't dare open his mouth again.

"Our next appointment will be next week?" Spock stood up as Pike nodded.

"I'll see you then," Pike said.

When Spock left, he leaned forward, cradling his head. Spock was doing so well! He just had to go and bring up Sarek. The goddamn man really screwed up his son. Pike wanted to blame him for all of the damage Spock had to live with. He had been pushed too far by his father, causing highly unnecessary stress that Spock carried with him throughout his life.

Pike only had his opinion of Sarek from what he heard from some of Spock's stories. However, he still knew that if he ever met the bastard, he would have a long talk with him and effects of childhood trauma in adult depression.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock has a visitor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's been a while. Sorry. I had a severe case of writer's block (along with exams and school ending) and didn't know how to handle this chapter. It took some tea and ice cream to concur that. On the bright side, it's about twice as long as my average chapters! And I did actually post some other stories that were pretty well-received.
> 
> As usual, I hope you enjoy this chapter and reviews are appreciated. If you have have any constructive criticism, that is appreciated even more. I promise I won't make you wait so long for the next chapter - I have quite a bit of it written so far, actually.

"My mother writes letters," Jim said. He sat at his desk, a resealed envelope in front of him. It was the policy that the staff had to check any packages before being given to a patient in case of any triggering or harmful material. "She's terrible with computers and doesn't understand what emails are."

"They are not that hard to understand," Spock mumbled.

"Yeah, well, to a 67 year-old woman with dial-up, they're unnecessary. And she enjoys writing more than calling me. So, I write her back from time to time and it's just our little thing. It's been like this since I've moved away from home."

"Is she the type of person to believe that technology is the devil's work?"

"Spock, let it go. It's not -"

A sharp knock cut Jim off.

"Come in," Jim said, turning around in his chair.

A male nurse opened the door, poking his head in. "Spock, you have a visitor waiting in the sitting room."

Spock pushed off from the desk, which he had been leaning on, and followed the nurse out to the hall with some reluctance.

"Have fun," Jim called over his shoulder.

Spock did not enjoy visiting days. It was why he and Jim had retreated from the sitting room earlier that morning. They always aimed to avoid the overemotional reunions that really shouldn't involve so much hugging and tearing up because they happened bimonthly.

"Who is it?" he asked once they were a safe distance from the door.

"She said her name was Nyota Uhura."

As soon as the name left the nurse's lips, Spock almost stopped walking. The last time he had seen Uhura was six months ago. He didn't like to think about the silent car ride he endured while she drove him to St. Agatha's. There was never a time where he had seen her so upset, holding back tears only for Spock's sake. Her strength made up for all that Spock lacked but did not, unfortunately, ease any pressure he felt. If anything, it simply made things worse for him. Maybe if she had cried a little more, maybe if she had not offered him as many smiles, he wouldn't feel so weak. This was wrong and selfish, Spock thought. If she showed anything more it would mean more guilt on him.

The heavy doors opened and he saw a charming smile, friendly brown eyes, and a familiar stunning red coat resting beside her. Uhura had looked just as she had the last time they saw each other; her very appearance flawless and her gracefulness surpassing that of any. When he met her at the couch she was sat at, she stood and wrapped him in a warming hug. Spock did not hug back. He wasn't really a hugging person.

"Hello," she said, taking her seat. She couldn't stop smiling. "You look good. And I know you probably hear this 20 times a day, but how are you?"

"I am fine, considering."

"Considering?"

"I stay here and take medication against my wishes," he explained. "Despite all that I am forced to do, I am well."

"So you're being stubborn as usual. I should have expected as much." Spock raised an eyebrow as she laughed. "But it is best you follow your doctor's orders. They know what is best for you right now."

Spock sighed. Just what he needed: another person siding with the doctor's. If he did not want to receive the help they offered, why was he not allowed to leave? What was the legality of the situation?

"I'm sorry I haven't been able to visit before. There's not really much of an excuse," Uhura said, quickly changing the subject.

"You have been busy with schoolwork, I am sure."

"But I still could have taken time to see you. You're far more important than –"

"– Than your job?"

"I'm sorry, Spock. I forgot you were such a workaholic."

"My priorities are in order; I do not see a problem."

"No… You never did."

They continued to talking. To avoid all topics about himself, Spock asked continuous questions about her classes. She taught French classes at the local high school for the past three years and Latin at the community college twice a week at a community college for the past 9 months. She also told him of her plans for private tutoring over the summer which was approaching quickly. To say the least, Uhura was a hard worker. Spock listened as she told stories of her students and coworkers. She truly enjoyed her job – much more than he ever did while he worked with biotechnology.

"Enough about me," she announced to Spock's disappointment. He did not want to talk about himself. Uhura was so much more interesting than he was at the moment. There was nothing to even tell her besides his routine for the past six months.

"Have you made any new friends?" Uhura teased.

And of course she found conversation potential.

Spock was reluctant to answer. "I have."

Her eyes lit up. "Really? Can I meet them?"

Spock hesitated. Jim and Uhura would most definitely make it their goal to tell as many embarrassing stories about Spock as possible. He thought about what Jim could say about him... and what he could hear.

"I do not think that would be best."

"Oh come on," Uhura pleaded. "They aren't dangerous, are they? What are their names?"

"His name is Jim Kirk."

"Where is he?"

"... In his room."

"Show me."

Spock opened his mouth to protest but Uhura had already stood. She looked at him expectantly as he rose slowly.

~*~

Jim was at the desk when Spock knocked.

"Come in," he said, not looking up from the letter he was writing.

"Jim, there is someone that would like to meet you."

He turned around and smiled at the woman at Spock's side. "Hello," he rose from the chair.

"Hi."

"This is Nyota Uhura," Spock gestured to her. Her coat lay draped across his arm and he shifted it around to point to Jim. "And this is James Kirk."

Uhura took a few steps forward, holding out her hand. "It's nice to meet you, James."

"Call me Jim. And it's nice to meet you, too. I've never heard Spock talk about you."

"Oh really?" Uhura raised an eyebrow.

"I did not find it relevant."

Jim shrugged. "He hasn't told me anything about himself. All I know is that he really likes science, chess, and tea. He could be from a different planet for all I know."

"You are well aware that my father is from Tokyo," Spock pointed out.

"I like how you say Tokyo," Jim smiled, eyes bright. "You should start speaking in Japanese more."

"No."

Uhura laughed behind her hand.

Jim turned to her. "I'm being rude," Jim pulled his chair to his bed for Uhura.

"Thank you," she said as she took a seat.

So they talked for a good hour. Spock and Jim sat on the bed, telling her how they met and other stories of the trouble they'd gotten into. Uhura couldn't remember the last time she had laughed that hard. She only wished that Spock could have looked a bit more enthusiastic. While she and Jim were struggling for breath, the corners of his mouth barely turned (and even then, it looked forced).

"But how did you two meet?" Jim asked.

"We went to college together," Uhura said. "We were in the same French class for a year and after that he tutored me in math."

"She also has pushed me into several relationships," Spock added.

"I did not push you into anything! I… nudged."

"We knew each other for a month before she was scheduling dates for me. They never worked out as well as she planned."

"Why?" Jim asked.

"I am gay and she was introducing me to her female friends."

"But you did have a long relationship with that Stonn guy after you came out to me," Uhura pointed out.

"But you were not involved in that."

"Wait," Jim said, holding up a hand. "Can I acknowledge that Spock just came out?"

"Yes, we will wait," Spock answered. He received a look from that Jim that he assumed he was done with his "sass". "You have been out to me and I saw no reason to hide my sexuality any longer."

Jim nodded and smiled. "Well, you know it's alright in my book."

"I appreciate your acceptance."

Jim held out his arms. "We need to hug this out."

"Please -"

"No. We're hugging."

"Jim -"

Spock was enveloped into a tight hug before he could protest any farther. His arms were pinned down to his side with his shoulder being made into a pillow. Jim squeezed him and swayed a little. It was a nice hug, even though it was only enjoyed by half of the participants.

Uhura was laughing as they separated. Spock looked like a cat that had its tail pulled by an obnoxious toddler, even blushing lightly. And, of course, Jim sat at the foot of the bed, looking incredibly smug.

~*~

"Hey, Spock?" Jim looked at his friend, sketching by the dim light of the small lamp on his nightstand.

"Hmm..." Spock didn't take his attention off of his pad. He narrowed his eyes and slowed down his strokes.

"When do you think you're going to be released?"

The question took Spock off guard. His hand stopped and he looked up at Jim.

It was almost midnight and technically they weren't breaking rules. They were supposed to be in rooms by 11 p.m. but no one had ever specified that they had to be in their _own_ rooms. Jim sat in the middle of the bed, looking out the window. From this part of San Francisco, one could actually see the stars.

"I do not know," Spock answered. 

Jim lowered his head and pulled his knees up to his chest. "Do you... think it'll be soon?" 

"Jim, why are you asking me this?" 

"I don't know. We've gotten close and I've never really been this close with anyone else before. And, I mean, I want you to get better but I feel selfish thinking about how I don't really want you to go." 

"Jim," Spock sat down his pad and pencil to scoot closer. "It is not selfish. You merely want a companion." 

"But it seems like I want to prevent you from leaving." 

"Do you?" 

"Of course not." 

"Then how are your thoughts selfish?" 

Jim chuckled. "I don't quite think it works that way." 

"Even so, Jim, you won't be alone. If I leave before you, you will still have Dr. McCoy. You will still have family who will visit you." 

"Yeah," Jim smiled at the thought. "Thank you. I'm going to see if I can sneak back in my own room. Goodnight, Spock." 

"Goodnight." 

Jim ran across the hall, avoiding the sight of any staff. 

Spock picked up his pencil and looked at his sketch. From what he had completed, he had managed to capture most of Jim's features well. His round face, his mischievous smirk, the wavy tuft of hair above his forehead, and his nose that was the perfect to Spock. He had to tell himself that it was only perfect to him as an artist. There was nothing romantic about his observations or even that he was drawing Jim. No doubt Jim was attractive but Spock chose to draw him because he thought it would be interesting. 

As he looked closer at the paper, he sighed in irritation. He still couldn't manage Jim's eyes. In the picture, they lacked the joyous shine that Spock had memorized. Turning out the light, he promised himself that he would attempt it again in the morning. 

But he never did. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 9 hooray! I didn't get it done as quickly as I had wished but it came out better than I thought and that's all that counts.

The next day, Jim and Spock decided (or McCoy forced them due to their inactivity) to actually leave the building for the rec time they had. Spock had agreed after he abandoned any attempts of finishing the sketch of Jim and nothing else held his interest. 

They sat in the small grassy area the hospital had by the recreation yard. It was the furthest they could go on the grounds. Jim had his eyes closed, inclining his head towards the sky to warm his face. Spock merely watched. He had been banned by Jim from bringing anything along. Strangely so, too. Jim had insisted that he wanted to talk and yet he sat as silent as a mouse. 

The other patients were either in the middle of a game on the worn basketball court or were entertaining themselves like Jim and Spock were (supposed to be) doing. Spock watched them all, his gaze slowly sweeping across the yard, taking in the faces he saw every day. It was a strange rule that the hospital had. No one ever saw anyone else from another floor. It was supposedly organized by the functionality and dangers of each patient. Floor 3 - their floor - was the largest and filled with people who could very well take care of themselves under the minimal supervision, support, and medication provided by staff. The other floors held patients who faced trouble with mundane tasks. Spock had even been told that since the capabilities diminished by the floor numbers, the first floor was for patients who could barely dress themselves and get up by themselves in the morning. But Spock knew better. The ability to wake up and dress could not be a factor. If it did, than he would have been placed on the first floor from the start. 

"Spock?" Jim asked suddenly. "Are you alright?"

Spock turned to Jim. "Yes. Why do you ask?"

Jim's eyebrows were furrowed together. He shook his head. "I've been trying to get your attention for a while."

"I'm sorry. I was thinking."

"About what?"

"It is not important." With a nod, Jim turned away. "And you?"

"I'm fine. Something's just been on my mind since I last talked to Pike."

"Did your last appointment not go well?"

Of course, Spock already knew the answer. Jim had had an appointment two days ago and ever since then, he seemed almost shaken. Several times he tried to start a conversation with Spock but would change his mind, then suggest a game of chess and they would play in silence. 

"It didn't go well but it didn't... not go well, either," Jim said. 

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not sure." 

If McCoy were there, Spock knew he would have said something along the lines of: "Jim, you're damn lucky you're pretty." And if Jim were in the mood, he would thank him for the compliment on his appearance. But McCoy was not there and Jim was not in that mood, so they remained speechless for some time.

"I asked Pike," Jim continued finally. "How confidential my condition is. He said that it only applied to the staff and, if I wanted to, I could tell anyone I wanted. My family already knows, so I thought..."

"You wish to tell me."

Jim nodded. "I had an imaginary friend. That's why I'm here."

Spock looked over at him, raising an eyebrow.

"Do you remember the shooting in Monterey a couple of years ago? I witnessed it and it's what triggered me. It didn't start too terrible at first. I just had minor symptoms of schizophrenia and bipolar disorder but I ignored them. Over a year later, I started creating fake situations and people. I thought I had an older brother named Sam and he was always with me. My bipolar disorder got worse from there and not long after that, I lost my job and my girlfriend.

"It's funny. I thought that Sam was the only thing that could make me happy," Jim laughed bitterly. "He was a great brother... and friend. He listened to me and talked to me like he was real. But it was just me, sitting alone in my apartment, talking to a wall. And you know what? He actually wasn't all that great company towards the end. Every once in a while he would tell me that I needed help and then we would argue. Pike said that it was my subconscious trying to tell me that something was wrong and fighting off the hallucinations or some shit. But anyways, we would argue and wouldn't talk and that's when it would start getting creepy. He would just stare at me... for hours. Sitting in the corner of the room, just watching everthing I did." Jim shivered. "I would try to look away and ignore him but I could  _feel_  him staring at me. I couldn't get away from him. He would always be there, watching - glaring. But by the end of the night, he would have usually disappeared. Sometimes he stayed... Do you know how hard it is to sleep when you have a ghost lingering in the shadows of the room?"

"When did your hallucinations end?" Spock asked. 

"A few weeks before I came here. A neighbor found me in the hallway of my apartment building. Apparently I had gone almost a week without food or sleep. I don't remember what happened, though. When I woke up, I was in a hospital and asking for Sam. I found out the hard way but I haven't hallucinated since. Immediately after I was released, I came here."

Jim plucked at a blade of grass, refusing to meet Spock's eyes. In the time that he had told his story, he had tucked his legs close to his chest and held them with one arm. His usual perky demeanor had changed to one of pain, becoming more severe with every sentence until reaching its climax at the end. 

Spock bit his lip, turning his attention to the ground. Jim had been through so much. He dealt with everything so well, too. And here was Spock. Spoiled from birth with privileges some other patients could never dream of. He had no reason to complain about his life. What challenges had he faced that weren't average or so minuscule he could deal with? There were several people who didn't have as much as him and they were the ones who had a reason to be upset. Not Spock. 

"I think we're supposed to go back in now," Jim said, looking over to the building's doors. Extra staff were beginning to file out, talking to patients and the ushering them inside. 

He stood up, offering a hand to Spock which was reluctantly accepted. They sauntered across the field under the gaze of a nurse yards away. 

"Thanks," Jim said. "It felt good to get that off my chest."

Spock did not find it necessary to reply. Jim smiled at him, though. His eyes lit up once again and remained so every time he looked at Spock throughout the evening. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy this chapter. Constructive critism is welcome and appreciated. I hope I pulled the flashback off. Let me tell you, I'm not writing anymore Vulcan characters as humans. It's harder than it seems (at least for me).

_Spock tapped his fingers nervously against his knees, watching the large houses and expensive cars pass by from the passenger's window of the car._

_"You don't need to be anxious."_

_He turned his head to Stonn and sighed. It was a mistake to bring him home but they were only a few minutes away. Too late to turn back._

_"You are aware my father won't accept you?" Spock said._

_"Of course."_

_Spock looked back out the window. He thought that Sarek would have been at least a little bit accepting. Stonn's parents were from Nagasaki, he was very smart, majoring in political science, and shared many opinions with Sarek. Except on homosexuality. And_ that _was the most important one tonight._

_Sarek believed that marriage should be between a male and female so a proper household could be made. The woman would provide the most nurturing and the father would provide discipline and a more logical perspective. It was the genders natural instinct and could not work if there were two men or women. This confused Spock as a child for his father married a very opinionated woman who was not only nurturing but spoke her mind constantly. His mother did not give in to the common stereotypes of a house wife that had been pressed upon their generation. As Spock grew, so did his vocabulary and he realized why Sarek was like that. He was a hypocrite._

_Spock was 23 and had started his fifth and final year of college in San Fransisco - only a few hours away from where his parents lived. His father had expressed his distaste for him going to school in America despite the fact that they had lived there since Spock was a young child and how eager the University was to accept him with a large scholarship. What he had noticed years ago, was that his father had expressed his distaste for almost everything Spock did on his own. It was hard having your own desires and goals when your father wished to mold you like clay._

_"Will it really be such a loss?" Stonn asked after a minute of silence._

_"You do not understand," Spock shook his head._

_"I do -"_

_"You don't," Spock snapped._

_Stonn clenched his jaw, trying to prevent the start of an argument. It was really the last thing they both needed. Spock was a nervous wreck and Stonn could only be so supportive of his stubborn boyfriend. If Spock wanted help, he would have to allow it instead of pushing away any ounce of understanding someone tried to provide._

_"I apologize," Spock said quietly. "I'm being irrational tonight."_

_"You are," Stonn agreed. "I wonder why I put up with you."_

_Spock would have smiled at the attempt of a joke if it had not been said in the middle of his parents' driveway._

~*~

_Amanda had greeted Spock with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Stonn was introduced to her as a "friend" with a handshake and welcoming smile. Spock was relieved to see her take an immediate liking to him and his manners. However, when his father walked out of his office when he heard the voices coming from the foyer, his hands went back behind his back in the nervous habit he had. Throughout the beginning of dinner, he was victim to Sarek's silence and occasional glance._

_"Do you have any plans as to what you will do after you finish school?" Sarek asked Stonn after a long, calm conversation about new bills being passed, upcoming elections, and basically anything they could talk about that involved politics._

_"Law interests me. I hope to work my way up to a high position but for now, I have a chance to intern for an attorney. If she's impressed by my schoolwork, I may start as soon as next month."_

_Spock couldn't help but smile through his fork. Perhaps Sarek would be so impressed, he would notice the flaws in his bigotry._

_"However," Stonn added. "Spock is starting his internship at the local medical research center on Monday. They're far more impressed with him than any law firm would be with me."_

_Spock had stopped chewing and was nearly glaring. He had specifically told Stonn right before they left to talk about his own schooling and career since Sarek had no interest in his._

_"Really?" Amanda smiled. "Why didn't you tell me?"_

_"I did not think it was important," Spock said._

_"Of course it is! It's wonderful."_

_"You worked hard for it," Stonn added._

_What are you going to be doing?" Amanda asked._

_"Mainly not touch anything," Spock joked. "They have already stressed that I will observe before attempting anything on my own under strict supervision."_

_"How will you gain experience if you merely watch?" Sarek commented._

_"It is five days a week for a full year. There will be plenty of time."_

_"Are you still going to apply after your internship?" Stonn asked._

_Spock was mildly annoyed by the questions. "I will wait to see if the center suits me. If it doesn't, there are many others in the city."_

_"Are you staying in San Fransisco? I thought you said you were thinking of moving," Amanda said._

_Spock looked to Stonn, who nodded slightly with a smile as if he could read Spock's mind. Clearing his throat, Spock figured if he didn't speak now, he would surely never get a better chance._

_"I've made plans to stay here..._ we've _made plans to stay here," Spock said slowly, bringing forth the wording he had so carefully chosen. "There is something you must know of Stonn and I. We have been dating for a while now and are living together next year. After some compromise, we agreed to live in San Fransisco."_

_The silence that followed made Spock's stomach sink and his heart race. Sarek had been in the middle of taking a sip of water but slowly set the glass down on the table, bringing his hands together in his lap like he did whenever needing to confront his son._

_"Sarek -" Amanda started in a warning tone but he cut her off with a sharp glance._

_"Father, I am gay and I will not refrain from any relationship because of what you think," Spock said boldly. "I know your opinions but they will not sway my actions."_

_"I did not expect so," Sarek said. "It has been years since you have listened to what I have to say."_

_"What you have said has not always been the wisest."_

_For years Spock longed to hear those words come from his own mouth. He imagined they would cause a very different reaction, though. He would be proud of himself, walk out with a new found confidence and pride. Instead, he shrunk in his chair as Sarek fixed him with a cold glare. It was obvious who still had the upper hand in their relationship._

_"I have only wanted the best for my son," Sarek's voice was low and threatening. "If it has come off as an inconvenience, I apologize."_

_Spock stared down at his lap. His cheeks burned and his throat very nearly closed up. The comment made him want to take everything back. Of course he knew that his father had nothing but the best interests for him. He wished to apologize but refused to give in. For once he wanted his father to have to compromise._

_"It's getting late. We should leave," Stonn's voice, calm as usual, interrupted the heavy silence. "Thank you for having us."_

_"Thank you for coming," Amanda said sincerely, if a bit awkward._

_They stood and Amanda wrapped Spock in a tight hug. "Congratulations, sweetheart."_

_Spock nodded stiffly and shuffled towards the door. Stonn put a hand on the small of his back as soon as Amanda closed the door behind them with a wave. Protectively crossing his arms, Spock slumped in the passenger's seat and focused on the dashboard as they drove away._

~*~

"Spock, you're not eating," Jim said, concern masking his voice.

"I am not hungry."

"You said that during lunch. Are you sure you're feeling alright?"

Spock picked up his plastic fork, scooped up a small pile of peas and put them in his mouth and began chewing. Jim didn't look amused. With some effort, Spock swallowed them.

"That doesn't count," Jim mumbled, turning back to his own tray of food.

Without the normal conversation over dinner, the dining hall seemed to be louder. Spock could hear every discussion, every pan that hit a counter with too much force, every leg of a chair being dragged a few inches across the floor as the owner became restless, every and any sound that would usually be drowned out by his undivided attention to Jim. In essence, without Jim's distractions he was suddenly... _aware_ and it frightened him.

"Excuse me," his voice was barely over a whisper.

Jim looked up but did not make a move to follow him through the doors of the dining hall and into the one of his own room.

After splashing cold water on his face to try to stay calm, Spock grabbed a pillow and curled around it on his bed. He shut his eyes against the brightness of the sun that leaked in through the thin, sad excuse for curtains. It was a ritual he had faced too often and had thought he would not have to again. It was only the start of the darkness he had known for so long and surely he could manage it on his own. He could fight his own demons. They were small and he would not allow them to grow or let anyone see them. Especially Jim. The man dealt with his own problems and had trusted Spock enough to tell him about his condition only a week ago. How could Spock dump it on him so soon? Jim might misunderstand or it might upset him enough to distract him from his own treatment and progress. He had come so far since his admittance five weeks ago. By his third month, he would probably be released. There were several outcomes and the negatives outweighed the positives. It was his burden only; no one else needed to get dragged down.

Spock's stomach suddenly cramped, pulling him from his thoughts. It was such a familiar, loathsome feeling. Not having any appetite yet his body insist he eat something. The little food he ate that day at breakfast had very nearly made a reappearance right before his appointment with Pike (which was a whole new can of worms. Again he managed to convince Pike he was in no need of any extra mental assistance despite his "Your eyes always show what you try to hide.")

Perhaps Jim would cause trouble later in the evening and make him forget his miseries for at least a few minutes.

~*~

_The food in Spock's stomach had become a hard lump. He closed his eyes and laid his head on the headrest._

_"It could have gone worse," Stonn tried reassuring him after 30 minutes of driving._

__Yes, _Spock thought._ But it could have also gone much better - perhaps if I had said nothing. __

_The lump grew and moved. It felt as though it was a ball of wet concrete trying to fight its way out of Spock's body. A sweat broke out across his forehead and he clutched his shirt in fistfuls, begging for the food to stay down._

_"Are you alright?" Stonn asked, quickly glancing at him._

_Spock didn't answer for a moment. He swallowed hard, trying to force down the bile that threatened to rise. "Pull over," he choked out._

_Stonn had already been in process of doing so and Spock was out of his seatbelt, clutching his mouth before the car came to a full stop. He tried to put some distance between his vomit and the car. As he doubled over, heaving on the side of the entrance ramp, he berated himself for becoming so upset. What good did vomiting have? Was he going to get all of his self-pity out through his mouth? Spock actually humored himself for a moment. Maybe his emotions did come out in the form of undigested casserole and after he finished, he would feel better. As though he didn't have a care in the world and he could think of his father with ease. It was silly, though, and he trudged back to the car with his anxieties in tow._

_Stonn's face was creased in concern. He turned on the lights in the car when Spock closed his door. "You aren't ill, are you?"_

_Spock shook his head. "I'm fine."_

_"Haven't you said 'fine' is unacceptable? That it has variable meanings?" Stonn watched him get settled back into his seat. "You're pale."_

_"I'll recover by the morning."_

_Spock leaned back on the seat, closing his eyes again. Stonn shrugged out of his jacket and placed it over him like a blanket. He tucked it around his shoulders to make sure it would stay. After letting his hands linger, he pulled his seatbelt back on and turned the lights off. A nearby streetlight was bright enough for Stonn to make out Spock's face. His eyebrows were drawn together from nerves, making the rest of his face look tense and 15 years older. It was not the first time Stonn had seen Spock like that. During exams, when all students were under considerable stress, Spock seemed to age as he poured all concentration into essays and books. It was nothing that couldn't be fixed if Stonn dragged him to bed and their limbs tangled together under the neglected sheets. When Stonn led Spock to his dorm room that night, he could not recreate the same effect._


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashbacks and concerned friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. So, I'm alive and this is updating again. This is like returning to an old friend after not seeing them for a while - it's awkward at first but then things pick back up right where they left off. I'm so sorry I haven't updated. There's an (outdated) explanation in the comments in reply to Bird - and, by the way, thank you so much for leaving that comment. It was so sincere and gave me the right amount of motivation to work on this chapter. :) 
> 
> But, excuses aside, enjoy.

Spock watched the ceiling light up from the early morning sun. He closed his eyes in resignation and began calculating. At around six he had finally fallen asleep after alternatively staring at the walls and the bright green numbers of his clock. The sun usually rose at eight – give or take a few minutes – and it certainly felt as though Spock had only slept for two hours. Knowing it would be useless to try for anything more, he pulled himself out from under the sheets and made his way into the shower.

He stood under the warm spray, the water easing off the beginnings of a headache Spock only knew would return later in the day. The time was lost to him and when the pads of his fingers were nothing more than wrinkles, he had only just begun working shampoo into his hair.

The water was cold and the mirror was covered in steam when Spock finally stepped out. He didn't bother wiping off the mirror to comb his hair or examine the dark circles under his eyes. Instead, he left the bathroom, small puddles of water leaving a trail behind him to his dresser and back to the bathroom. He changed into the issued scrubs and tried rubbing his hair dry before running a comb through it.

Most of Spock's usual routine was incomplete that morning. His bed wasn't made, his hair was what he would have considered unpresentable, and his bathroom was unkempt. He left his room, contemplating on returning to his typical habits the next day.

"Good morning."

Jim smiled brightly up at him from his seat beside Spock's door. Spock could not muster a response and was left blinking at the overly-perky man.

"Why?" was all he said after a moment of silence.

"I woke up early and thought I would wait for you." Jim got to his feet. His smile vanished and his eyes narrowed in concern. "Are you alright?"

"How many times have you asked me this?"

"How many times have you avoided the question?"

Spock held back a sigh. "I am fine, Jim."

Jim looked skeptical but thankfully began walking down the hall with Spock, leaping into a story about a questionable dream he had had that was a little concerning to both men but appreciated for the humor. The short walk and shine in Jim's eyes marginally broke through the dark haze that clouded Spock's mind.  
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________

_Spock arrived home early from work, the weight of the world on his shoulders. Stonn greeted him with surprise._

_"What happened?" he asked, taking in Spock's crumpled form._

_"I…" Spock shook his head, attempting to collect his thoughts to form an explanation. "My boss found it necessary to fire me today."_

_Stonn sighed and wrapped Spock in a hug. The hug was not returned and Spock even stiffened in his boyfriend's hold. Stonn's hand rubbed small circles into Spock's back, upsetting the white dress shirt that wasn't as neat as it would have been months before. After a few minutes of the awkward silence and his shirt slowly getting untucked, Spock finally pulled away. Stonn looked slightly hurt at the abruptness of it._

_"Are you alright?" Stonn asked._

_Spock nodded. Truthfully, he felt as though he had been punched several times over. And it didn't help any that Chekov - his_ assistant _of all people - witnessed everything. Then, felt that he needed to defend Spock._

_Out of the year they had worked together, Chekov and Spock were never great friends but they each admired each other and had become close in their own little way. Chekov was an eccentric boy, fresh out of college and ready to put his degree to good use. He was prone to being mouthy to his superiors and Spock had, at one point, enjoyed watching the little Russian show off his wits in heated discussions that Spock wisely stayed a safe distance away from. The superiors eventually went to Spock and told him to straighten the boy out. They informed him that the research center was a place for concentration solely on science and medicine. That there was no room for 20-something year olds wasting time. It made a pang to shoot through Spock's heart. The next day Spock gave Chekov a small lecture, keeping his face hidden in his microscope._

_Chekov never said anything that wasn't work-related to his superiors ever again - but, when he began to make light banter with Spock on breaks, lightly teasing him with his faked faulty knowledge on Russian history, Spock thought that whatever their boss didn't know, wouldn't hurt him._

_That day, when Spock was confronted in the middle of an experiment, Chekov had tried to rescue him. He had thought Spock's firing was his fault. He told their boss that he was to blame for any unprofessional behavior in the labs and Spock was the one who kept everything in line. Spock had given him a sharp look, silencing him. It was so much more than Chekov's banter. Spock had missed too much work recently and had been unproductive. Most of the work that came from his portion of the labs was Chekov's and Spock had been so far behind he could barely catch up to their current assignments. Out of the nine years of working with bio-tech - five of those years of working with that particular center - Spock had never been so unprofessional. He had been warned weeks ago with a performance improvement plan - that he apparently failed to meet the standards of. Watching the boy who admired him way too much become flustered was too overwhelming for Spock and he quietly agreed to leave the lab in Chekov's hands. The experience of running a lab until they found a replacement would be good for him, at least._

_"Dinner will be a while," Stonn said, in an attempt to push the topic aside for the moment._

_"I will shower in the meantime," Spock said, walking off to the bathroom._

_He stood under the warm spray of the shower until Stonn knocked on the door to tell him that dinner was ready. Spock was reluctant to turn the water off and step out into the rest of the house that was too cold in comparison._

_Spock's jaw clenched as he breathed in the meal. It sat, steaming in front of him, and caused his stomach to churn. Food was the last thing on his mind and had been for weeks._

_"You are not eating," Stonn commented after a few minutes of silence. Spock shook his head, pushing his food around with his fork._

_"I am not hungry."_

_"It is not the end of the world," Stonn said, his voice a bit testy. "There will more job opportunities. You weren't even happy there."_

_"You do not understand."_

_Stonn sighed. Spock looked up warily, watching Stonn pinch the bridge of his nose._

_"Why don't I understand, Spock?" he asked, irritation painfully evident. "You always tell me that when something is bothering you. You never try to explain, though, and it gets old after a while. Tell me what's wrong. Please."_

_"I-" Spock choked on his words._

_Stonn shook his head in defeat. "I can't help you unless you tell me what is wrong. I want to help you, Spock."_

_"I am sorry for all you have put up with. You deserve better."_

_"Yes," Stonn mumbled, causing Spock bow his head. "Talk to me when you're ready."_

_Stonn rose from the table, pushing his chair back a bit too forcefully. He left his plate on the table, his food barely touched and getting cold._

_Spock was left alone, his napkin gripped tightly in both hands. And even though he had not eaten since that morning, he knew he would spend a good portion of the night trying to vomit quietly so he would not inconvenience Stonn._  
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Spock was sitting quietly McCoy's office, watching as the doctor was once again grumbling to Jim who was perched on the side of his desk.

"Why do you insist on coming in here?" McCoy attempted to finish paperwork despite Jim practically sitting right on top of it.

"We're friends," Jim said.

The doctor mumbled something under his breath that had something to do with "mutual feelings" and calling Jim a kid. Jim's perkiness didn't waver just yet, though. He sat up straighter and picked up outdated paperwork about medical supplies, inspecting it carefully. McCoy rolled his eyes but let him have it. If something kept him occupied and quiet, than McCoy couldn't complain.

Jim's eyes wandered from the paper as he quickly lost interest. McCoy didn't notice him taking in the information of the other papers scattered across his desk and continued scribbling his signature on the bottom of documents.

Spock watched from his chair across McCoy's desk. Since Jim had arrived at the hospital, McCoy had become much less patient. He would start snapping at people minutes before his usual break point (most of the time it was directed at Jim, though). However, Spock could see an unwavering touch of affection McCoy had towards Jim. And the latter seemed to benefit from socialization. It was curious why he chose the grouchiest man in the building and the one that had been compared to a computer several times before to befriend.

"What's wrong with you?" Spock was caught off guard by the sudden question. All of McCoy's attention was off the paperwork and on him. "You seem out of it today."

"I've already tried asking him," Jim said, his tone turning serious.

"As I have told Jim, nothing is wrong," Spock said.

"You look pale... and a bit gaunt."

McCoy stood up and walked around the desk to Spock, staring intently at him.

"Have you been eating?"

Spock opened his mouth to lie his way through another interrogation but Jim beat him to it.

"No. He hasn't eaten a full meal since last week."

"It is only Monday," Spock said, a tad defensive. "And I ate lunch today."

"Only half of it."

McCoy's face had softened and he put a gentle hand on the other's arm. "Do you need anything?" he asked quietly.

Spock shook his head. "I merely have had no appetite," he said in an equally quiet voice. "Do not concern yourself with it."

"I'm your doctor," McCoy said, straightening up and crossing his arms over his chest. Touchy moments with him never lasted long. "I'll concern myself with it if I damn well please."

Spock's glare was a perfect imitation of McCoy's. They were caught in another silent battle that the hospital staff had witnessed numerous amounts of times. Neither of them seemed ready to back down until Jim cleared his throat. They both gave him a look as though they had momentarily forgotten his existence.

"Is there something I should know about?" Jim asked.

"No," McCoy mumbled, taking his seat.

"It is negligible," Spock said.

There was a light scoff from McCoy.

Shortly after that, Jim and Spock left. Spock felt as though the weight that had been resting on his chest for a whole had gotten heavier. He knew that as soon as he had stepped out of those doors, a phone call was made to Pike. Then, his next therapist appointment would be riddled with more "you're not alright" and "just talk to me". It would be harder for Spock to deny everything. He never wanted to whine to a psychiatrist or be taken care of and he never asked to be placed in the hospital or to be placed on medication that had no effect anymore. He would come up with a solution to his problems by himself. He was a grown man and capable of taking care of himself. Besides, they would be better off not being plagued with his sob stories.


End file.
